


Two Sides; Same Coin

by Ailorian



Category: Captain America, MCU, Marvel
Genre: AvengerKinkPrompt, Bucky Barnes thinks his name is Janus Buchanan, Camboy!Bucky, M/M, MemoryLoss!Bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-02-20 15:32:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2433851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailorian/pseuds/Ailorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My Captain said: </p>
<p>Have I told you about my favorite avengerkink <br/>(http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/7940.html?thread=15732740)<br/>prompt?<br/>Bucky is found by shield and they don't tell Steve about it and Bucky becomes a cam boy who does like military porn<br/>Anyways Steve likes how accessible that stuff is these days and gets really into the work of "Winterxxx" or something dumb anyways they build a rapport<br/>And then Bucky's like "weeeeelll, this is supposed exclusive content but..." And then something with his face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Idea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CosmicPrincen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicPrincen/gifts).



“So this, thing - it’s not an eraser.”

“You can’t really erase. You can destroy, that’s what they’ve been doing all along. But Barnes’ body is trying to revert to its perceived peak origin, to heal to the point of his first dosing with the serum.”

“His first capture then, in the war; Zola.”

“Looks that way.”

“And this thing...”

“Will isolate all his current memory connections. Forced, intentional amnesia.”

“That’s your best idea?”

“It’s literally the kindest thing we can do at this point. The device isolates the memory cells from the conscious mind but it’s not absolute. Memories will return to him in a controlled manner, as he wants them, but have a much lower chance of being triggered at random.”

“And in the mean time?”

“In the mean time, we give him a haircut, a new name, a quiet unassuming apartment in an unfamiliar city. James Barnes is a good man. If he can help us, I believe he will, but you have to let him want to. If you try to take answers from him, you’ll be met only with resistance.”

“You’re suggesting that we need time to gain his trust?”

“He’s already endured any and every form of torture and interrogation. Half his brain is jelly and the other half is violence. He needs time to recover enough to give you straight answers, honest ones, and I believe he will, if you prove you need them, prove worthy of them.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out. What are you gonna tell Rogers?”

“Nothing.”


	2. An Impulse

In 2012, it took an aircraft carrier hovering over the earth and vanishing from sight to surprise Steve Rogers - cost him ten bucks too. Then, Zola’s power cube brought forward the attention and presence of an alien army a universe away, who destroyed half the city, and Tony Stark launched a nuke into space, risking his life, before falling out of the sky into the arms of the allegedly uncontrollable Hulk.

After the incredulity wore off, after the cube was taken off-planet by Thor, after the recovery of New York City started in earnest, after the _Avengers_ scattered to the four winds, Steve actually began to suspect that he might never be surprised again.

On SHIELD’s database, Steve’s inquiries had been pointed, and answered with pertinent, intentional data, if only because his first time on the World Wide Web had been such a convoluted waste of energy that he almost didn’t want to bother looking at the /Google/ logo ever again. When Stark offered him a place to crash for a bit during some public relations stunts that Miss Potts had arranged for Captain America and Iron Man in the clean-up following the Chitauri (since the two of them were better equipped to handle public and media outcry than the others), the SHIELD database became a lot harder to access, if only because (Steve suspected) Tony was intentionally blocking non-Stark-secured connections throughout most of the tower. Besides that, JARVIS apparently automatically connected him to the carefully firewalled World Wide Web any time he used the search tool in the bottom corner of his laptop, rather than searching the local area connections first - which would have saved Steve /some/ time and confusion, since Stark's database was just about as informed as SHIELD's.

After a few days of idleness waiting for this charity event or that press conference, pulling missions in between with as much subtlety as possible, Steve hit the sofa hard one night (in the big loft, because Steve liked the view and couldn’t stand the silence on his /personal floor/ - which was arguably unnecessary), unable to sleep, and decided to forego further attempts at keeping himself off the unbridled fringes of the internet.

It didn’t take more than half an hour to realize he had probably made a mistake - or at the very least, been horribly mistaken. Sure, Steve understood most things pretty easily, even if he hadn’t heard of them yet - fads and pop culture, references so common to most that meant nothing to him. Technology wasn’t as weird as people seemingly expected it to be for him - fiddle enough and you can figure almost anything out eventually - touch screen or not it’s basically just buttons to be pressed - but the internet was forever weirder than Steve could have imagined.

“How did I go from Star Wars to naked men kissing?”

“That doesn’t look anything like Thai food.”

“Why does everyone keep saying it’s over nine thousand?”

“No. I am not Googling that.”

“Why would Steve Jobs and blow jobs be in the same results window?”

“How did I go from Dance Dance Revolution to group sodomy?”

"Do I want to know what a ‘cream pie’ is? Oh, God, no. No, I did not."

“Why would you even want a waffle to be blue?”

“Is ‘Nyan’ the breed or the brand?”

“How is it every /single/ hyperlink wants to take me to pornography?”

“Is that -- me? Is that /me/? Did someone draw this?”

“It’s Rule 34, Cap.” Jumping at the sound of a voice behind him, Steve slammed the lid of his computer closed, standing from the sofa and turning in the same moment; if he was armed, he’d have it pointed at Tony already. Surprisingly (and probably carefully, intentionally, considering he had his own astounding amount of PTSD to deal with) unperturbed by the jumpy super soldier, the genius billionaire - and currently Steve’s gracious host, while the two of them bounced between the recovery of New York City and reaching their own equilibrium in the aftermath of a damned space invasion - simply grinned. “Rule 34, like, of the internet. If it exists, there is porn of it online.”

“Isn’t that a little excessive?” Steve asked, immediately and intensely uncomfortable with the entire situation, especially while Tony was standing there smiling at him like a Cheshire cat with the neighbor's cream. Thinking on the image of himself -well, Captain America, who sometimes felt like a separate person entirely- sketched out like a window display pin-up gal, Steve rubbed the back of his head, wondering if his cheeks were as bright as they were warm. “I mean, it’s good, but --”

“Excessive? Why, cuz it’s a touch more than the old eight-pager beside the penny candy at the corner store? Most people aren't ashamed to feel desire much anymore, Cap. There’s a couple thousand kinks that don’t even touch the more deviant stuff, let alone the straight up illegal; sites for free porn, sites for professional porn, sites for interactive porn. Hell, you can jump on webcam with a single horny local hottie at just about any moment of the day.” Shrugging, Tony bit a chunk out of the apple in his hand, and turned to leave, having apparently only been passing through the top floor.

“Does ‘kink’ mean something different these days?” Steve asked himself softly, staring at his closed laptop for a few minutes, hands on his hips, bottom lip clamped between his teeth.

There was, he realized, really only one way to find out.


	3. Implementation

“My name is Janus Buchanan?” The blue eyed man demanded incredulously, staring at the file that had been placed in front of him, now open across the plastic tray that was poised over his hospital bed.

Coulson smirked a little, almost feeling guilty for the mythological reference (Janus, the god with two faces, looking both forward and backward in time). Though controversial in its similarity to (frankly, well know, public) fact, the name had actually been chosen to keep crisis at bay, staying as close to truth as they (well, Coulson) deemed safe and fit.

The metal arm - now absent the red star and nuclear radiation - lifted from white hospital sheets to cuff a hand through short cropped, bleached blond hair. It was a one time dye-job, designed to keep his appearance at odds with other, more media heavy, sensationalized images until his temporary identity settled enough for him to grow comfortable.

“Do I at least have a cool nickname or something?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Coulson lied easily, his tone as calm and stoic as ever. He had been here almost a full hour, explaining to the iconic (broken, stone faced, frightened) man before him that he had lost his memory in the field, that he was going on a temporary leave of absence.

_Bucky Barnes_ \- another childhood hero and idol whom Coulson was equal parts excited and utterly unprepared to meet - stared up at him from the (highly secured secret extramilitant base) hospital bed with a surreptitious expression, mouth twisted sardonically and one brow cocked.

“We ain’t friends then, huh?” He asked dryly, chuckling as he looked down at the file rather than maintaining eye contact. His second question was a little quieter. “Do I even have friends?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

The selected, approved, and renovated apartment was in the Missouri side of Kansas City; an entire yellow-brick building of SHIELD grade domestic-camouflage security, filled in halves by Coulson’s personally-vetted agents and Section 8 beneficiary veterans with no interest beyond their TV and 2nd amendment rights.

Barnes - Functional Code Name: Buchanan - knew explicitly already that it wasn’t exactly home, that it was actually as new as it would look and feel, regardless of his condition. There was no point in pretending they weren’t keeping things from him.

“It’s counterintuitive to provide you any information that you do not independently recall.” It was equal parts nerve-wracking and relieving that Buchanan accepted such an explanation so easily. “To put it simply, your last mission was fairly delicate. There’s no real urgency of time here, we just need to make sure that if your memories come back, and the intel we’re looking for is amongst them, that they come back accurate and genuine.”

“It would help if I could know something besides my dumb name.” Buchanan mentioned, not arguing, simply mentioning, and Coulson gave a small smile at the careful skirting prod, unsure whether it was a sign of fear or a reflection of the man’s natural sardonicism.

“Trust me, there’s quite a bit you don’t want to hear about.”

Two days after waking up from his final treatment, Buchanan was escorted to his new apartment. The bottle-blond didn’t speak during the two hour drive, merely listening, gaze flickering in and out of focus at the scenery as it rushed passed.

“Your rent, utilities, and groceries are all taken care of.” Coulson explained in the car on their way. “Anything you want beyond that, you’ll have to purchase yourself. I suggest you keep your employment low-key, maybe even under the table. I’ll make any arrangements you might need.”

Passing him a flip phone - which looked cheap and low tech but actually had extremely high functionality - Coulson explained the short-dial key to contact him directly, and lead the way into the building.

Sixth floor (out of twelve), apartment number 6B, with a mailbox in the lobby and a dingy elevator that shook a bit on their way up. Within twenty minutes of unlocking the unit-door and handing Buchanan the key, Coulson was as content as he could be with the arrangements, confident in the surveillance, and his personnel. There was nothing further for him to handle in person, so he strode casually toward the exit, departing with his usual deadpan.

“I’ll be in touch.”


	4. Indulgence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late; Halloween is pretty big for me and I was otherwise occupied.

As it turns out, the answer is: yes. Kink still means both a bend or curl, and deviation (specifically of a sexual nature). The sheer number of kinks listed online were astounding, sometimes alarming, but generally just impressive as far as the extent of human imagination and interest. Unfortunately, no matter the quality of video, stills, persons, actions, or writing - no matter the content in general, it seemed - Steve found that porn was, frankly, dull.

Steve Rogers was not a stranger to the naked human form. Everything - literally /everything/ - was quite a bit more public these days, but the censored, private social manners of his childhood had never stopped the neighborhood kids gathering around an eight pager trying to figure out girls. A load of boys don’t need bathing suits when it’s a hundred degrees in the shade and the tide is high. And when every item of clothing you own is hanging from the wash line in the sunshine because it’s gonna rain the rest of the week, you wind up laying spread eagle across the bed with your best friend talking about baseball waiting for your pants to dry so you can go outside.

Well, Steve’s not a hundred percent sure that last one was, or is, a legitimate norm, but then he’s starting to realize there might not be any such thing as /normal/.

The saddest thing about modern porn is how empty it feels. Even the poorly drawn cartoons in old gray-backs had character. Real character. Women who might crook their finger in every volume, but even one-phrase dialogue boxes were enough for you to get to know them. Men who you could grow to idolize or despise (most often based on how they treated those girls, who were - villainous or otherwise - generally gems). Yeah, they were dumb short stories for the exclusive purpose of arousal to the dirty drunks and dumb kids who were desperate enough to save their pennies for a week old print, but the internet is worse.

On the basis of curiosity alone, Steve spent maybe an hour a week - though there were a few stints of empty time where it was /a little/ more than that - on the internet, and at least half of that exploring the world of kinks. It didn’t take long for him to realize that nice hips and a fine waist look good no matter what, and no matter on whom.

The nicest hips and the finest waist could not take away the unsatisfied, almost besmirched sensation that accompanied his semi-weekly internet adventures. A sensation strong enough that it began to affect his mood, if Tony’s intervention was anything to go by.

“You’re sulking.” The genius philanthropist accused in a dry tone. Steve was sunk low into the sofa, his feet propped up on top of his closed laptop on the table, arms folded - it would be impossible to deny it so he didn’t answer. “Not sure if it’s ‘still’ or ‘again’ though.” Tony continued, opening the fridge to get himself a beer (or two, it sounded like).

“If it’s something I’ve said or done I’m suppose to find out and make amends, Pep is being very serious about this whole good public relations practice, especially now that /the Avengers/ is so not a thing.” A pause in his rant was all that alerted Steve to the fact that Tony was waiting for him to take one of the beers. “It probably is, to be honest, a thing I mean. People think there are good guys and bad guys but actually we're a species of tool-users who strive either to gain control or provide control. When the smoke clears and the clip is empty, all that's left is fear and heroes.” Taking one of the bottles - though the hoppy, carbonated brew is little more than water to the super soldier - Steve huffed out a sigh.

“Thought you didn’t believe in heroes.” He argued softly, probably just trying to be contrary, if only because Tony Stark made him want to be contrary.

“Took me a while to believe in villains too.” Tony shot back without delay, dropping onto the sofa opposite Steve and taking a long swig. “But there are villains; bad awful manipulative amoral selfish power hungry people.” Steve leveled a look at the self-spoiling billionaire, eliciting a quick motion of surrender. “Don’t get me wrong, I am all about self - self indulgence, self satisfaction, self stimulation - but if I accomplish nothing else for the rest of my life, I would have it be that nothing selfish I ever did took the life of someone else.”

Deciding to let him keep going, Steve sat up enough to tip the bottle up without spilling, taking several long draughts before he adjusted his seat, pulling his feet down off the table with a hint of shame associated entirely with his mother’s voice echoing a soft ‘remember your manners’.

“You know, except some asshole villain.” Tony added, head tilting slightly as the only indication of segue. “In fact, I think I had a tudor once who was quoting someone; Ayn Rand or Woodrow Wilson, I don’t remember.” Waving his hand dismissively, Tony leaned forward, obviously intent on having his next words taken very seriously. “To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.”

“That was Emerson.” Steve informed him in an even tone, a full minute of silence later.

“Well Emerson was pretty smart I guess.” Tony countered, taking another sip and staring at his cuticles for a moment as if at a loss, which was almost enough for Steve to take pity on him.

“Is this an attempt to cheer me up?” He asked, legitimately curious for a moment. “Or, amends, was it? I’m not upset with you.” For once. “It’s just been a long day.”

“A long month, then, since you’re almost on schedule for a sulk today.” Tony retorted, much to Steve’s surprise (not that Stark retorted, certainly, but the content of the retort). It was possible that JARVIS was monitoring him or something - Tony had made comments before about Steve’s obvious PTSD since a good chunk of his programs were designed to recognize potential threats - including those who were dangerous to themselves. So far, Steve was aware, JARVIS had prevented at least four suicides just regarding employees within the tower.

“Still adjusting, I guess.” Steve murmured, hoping that might be the end of it, since he wasn’t really interested in telling Tony that he was disappointed by the lack of legitimate enthusiasm in free internet porn.

“Are you having 1940’s gentleman shame sessions?” Tony asked, after little more than a minute of silence had passed. Both of their beers were empty at this point, and Steve almost - almost - managed to resist picking at his label instead of meeting Stark’s gaze. “Because, as admirable and pious as self loathing might sound, it’s actually just lame.”

“What are you even talking about?” Steve asked quietly, apparently exhausted by this interaction already - though more often than not, bantering with Stark got him riled up.

“Sulking after porn, it’s like the ultimate duh of self loathing, number one symptom actually, and I’m guessing it has something to do with the fact that your masculine to feminine ratio is right around 1 to 1, which, by the way, is pretty impressive odds considering the imbalance of quality available and the rest of the gender scale, even if it is -sadly- mostly fetishized.” Steve held up a hand to stop him, a little surprised when Stark actually fell silent, brows raised curiously while he waited for the response he wanted.

“Thanks for the beer.” Steve murmured, moving to stand. This was definitely not a conversation he needed to have with Tony Stark - whether as a teammate, host, or some farcical attempt at friend.

“It’d be better if you could talk to them, right?” Tony barrelled on, and really, Steve should have made a better escape, or at least quicker. Instead, he moved stoically toward the bar, looking for the knee-high recycle bin to put his bottle away while Tony started to follow him. “I’m just guessing but I get the feeling you’re not worried about liking cock, you just don’t like being behind the one-way glass.” Turning, Steve leveled a dry glare at the brunet, who threw his hands up in mock surrender again.

“Just sayin, I mentioned the on-cam cuties for a reason.” Shrugging, Tony winked, tossing his bottle in the air - only to have the knee-high recycle bin come scurrying out from under the bar to catch it, clanking softly against the impact safe plastic - and strolled away.


	5. This Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm late again. Sorry. I don't do responsibilities well.  
> and omg i haven't even started writing the next one and it's already Tuesday.

It’s weird, being blank. It doesn’t feel hollow or empty - just - like a notebook full of pages, full of paper, waiting for the initial press of graphite or ink, waiting for words; hell, waiting for spilled coffee or a falling tear, a wad of gum to be crinkled up inside. Anything - anything- to mar the miles and miles of unmarred, untextured, pristine white. The first memory that ever came back to him was a voice, high pitched, young, tone lilting as if with a smile.

“I could just call you Bucky.”

Just like that; an echo without context or surroundings, not even a face or a mouth forming the syllables. It occurred to him seemingly at random, without provocation, as he flopped down onto the sofa that had been provided, old and heavy but clean, not too itchy to touch. The TV it faced was small, relatively new, with only basic cable channels like the local news and PBS. There’s WIFI, he was told, and a laptop computer still charging on the peninsula between him and the kitchen, if he had any interest in getting online.

“Well, shit.” He murmured to himself, lifting a can of lemon-lime pop to his mouth for a swig. “It’s better than Janus.” Two weeks in to his new life, new apartment, relaxing while he waited for his world to come back together, seemed like a pretty okay start as far as amnesia-recovery was concerned, even if it was no promise of a good pace forthcoming. After that, Bucky was the only way he introduced himself.

“My friends call me Bucky.” Though there was never evidence he had any friends. There’s neighbors, sure, in and outside of the apartment complex.

At the end of his third week, Bucky decided TV wasn’t all that great anymore, and started running twice a day. In the beginning, he wore long sleeves, but it got too hot for that real quick, and he was relieved to find that nobody seemed to be outright staring. Kansas City wasn’t the most tightly packed bustling city in America, but there were passersby a-plenty. It just seemed like they had better things to stare at; then again, it could have been the rising national amputee numbers, or even basic political correctness - which, frankly, was something Bucky didn’t give half a damn about.

At the end of his second month, Bucky stepped inside a coffee shop on Liberty Drive, bought a bottle of water, and took a seat. A little boy a few tables away stared, shameless and unrelenting. When his dad was ready to leave, the kid stopped beside Bucky, drawing his attention.

“How’d you lose your arm?” He asked, voice sweet and calm, like he hadn’t been turning the question over in his mind for the last ten minutes. Before the father could apologize, Bucky chuckled, pinching his face into something he hoped resembled a smile, and shrugged.

“I don’t remember.” Independent Recall was harder than he imagined.

It still took him until the end of the night to realize he needed a proper distraction.

It’s weird, being blank; especially when blank doesn’t necessarily mean ‘ignorant’ or ‘innocent’. Bucky went whole days, weeks, basically two months straight actually, of never encountering something he wasn’t at least mildly familiar with. He couldn’t remember having ever lived in Kansas City before, but he had some idea of how to get where he wanted to go, recognized the titles of books in the display cases he jogged passed, knew how to answer his phone when Coulson called, turn on his computer and TV, replace a light bulb.

Probably the funniest thing he actually noticed being inanely familiar with was the fact that the internet will almost always find a way to take you to porn. Of all the things that were coming naturally to him, it was likely reflective of him as a person that sex based cinema was high on the list, though he liked to think it was reflective of being fun and self confident.

Well, he liked to pretend to think it was. Pretending is basically practice anyway.  

It started off with an offhand comment and a Youtube video. The pretty girl behind the counter with big curls and almond shaped eyes mentioned liking his accent, which caught Bucky off guard.

“I have a few cousins from New York.” She added, as if that explained it, and Bucky smiled, probably made an inane comment, and left with his change in one hand and shopping bag in the other, forgetting to put the money back in his pocket until he was almost home. Bucky had never noticed if he talked differently than his neighbors, though that might have something to do with the fact that he didn’t speak to most of them. Ten seconds in the door at home, he got on his computer and searched for New York Accent, clicking on videos for five minutes.

Videos of “New Yorker Says Funny Phrases” became “A Whirlwind Tour of NYC” became “NYC After Dark” and before he knew it, Bucky was staring at naked bodies performing all sorts of acts. It was, all things considered, a pleasant way to pass the evening; better than more local high school sports news at least.

A week after that, he was stocking shelves in a the grocery store up the street after hours - making six bucks an hour “untaxed” - and caught a look at himself in one of the floor to ceiling mirrors decorating one wall. Apparently Janus Buchanan is a little vain, he mused, laughing at himself while he flexed and smiled. The thought that lingered afterwards was the inclination that he was built well enough to make a good wage in private, and naked; being outright filmed didn’t quite sound like something he wanted, though, especially under the impression that the life he was trying to recall required some anonymity, or at least obscurity.

Next it was "Germans Pronounce Squirrel" became "How to say 'That's What She Said' in American Sign Language" became "Everton Distillery Fire" and honestly, Bucky still isn't sure how he wound up on a live chat webcam site, but he suspected it had something to do with the fire fighters. His favorite site, one of the first few he found, encouraged clever usernames, and Bucky picked SoldierSmolder107 on a whim.

Christmas decorations were starting to appear the first time Bucky became anxious about the appearance of his prosthetic. After months of not even drawing second glances from passing strangers, he had gotten comfortable enough to roll up his sleeves at work, jog without extra layers, though in the colder weather there wasn’t much opportunity for deliberation. The cool metal wasn’t his dominant hand anyway, so most days it wound up in his pocket out of habit.

Actually it took an attempted mugging - which, all things considered, should have had more important factors. Dark didn’t really feel any different than bright, since his night vision was pretty good, and his instincts seemed in tact. Good enough, at least, to realize the moment that three punk kids stepped out of their ally to start following him down the sidewalk.

Fifteen steps later he turned, dropped the two closest to him and blocked a gunshot from the third with his open palm - the clang of metal on metal echoing down the street as the kid stared at him in horror.

“Fucking freak.” Three sets of running feet, and Bucky stared at his hand, fingers curling. The other wounded warriors he had met didn’t have metal.

Coulson showed up before Bucky could even put in a call, produced a camouflage projector that plugged in beneath the access flap in the forearm, and told him to relax, focus on balance and health while his memories found their way back. Tiny screwdriver in hand, Bucky worked on his arm for a couple hours after Coulson left, and it only took him ten minutes to figure out how to change the settings, though he left the arm on the natural flesh tone before he went to sleep.

Bucky got his first spam email (in the otherwise empty inbox of stainlessfist@yahoo.com; which is still as funny as it was when he made it) and - even knowing enough about spam to know better - opened it.

_Immediate Opening:_   
_Be Our Next Best Camboy Cock Teaser_   
_Choose Your Own Hours_   
_Choose Your Own Customers_   
_Choose Your Own Style_   
_Be Your Own Boss!_   
_Sign Up Today!!_

He closed the email, laughing, but didn’t delete it. Signing up to stare at strangers playing with themselves on camera didn't mean he had any interest - or qualifications - to join their ranks.

It only took three more days for him open it again.


	6. That Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Put the calendar down little sister, I will bury you in satin.   
> /yes i know how long its been and i'm sorry. i would say 'you were warned, i suck at this' but i can't remember if i warned you or not/

Steve Rogers was -and is- the sort of kid who goes barreling down an alley for no other reason than “I heard a cry for help” - a boy made by God out of little more than straw stuffed cotton and wood pulp - tackles the apparent aggressor, and basically focuses his energy on standing upright and ignoring pain until the bully loses interest or knocks him out - or Bucky Barnes appears behind him to end the fight. Reckless, it has been argued, might as well be his middle name, but that has never stopped Steve from /wanting/ information - as much as is possible, actually. Sure, the military has levels of need-to-know, governments lie, people lie, perception makes even the most visible events subject to interpretation, every single piece of information is a fact or fiction, spun and phrased to get the presenter’s desired response; even music is manipulation. It’s up to the individual to wade through the constant stream of data that has been made available by modern media; to decipher what is fact and what is fiction, and to determine truths. The important finale of which is to act upon those truths, defending those who cannot defend themselves, and serving a greater good.

As far as self righteous inner monologues go, that resolution that has stayed with him through at least a couple wars, and almost a full century, had very, /very/ recently begun to actively turn his stomach.

Yes, he should gather as much information as he can before making any possibly rash decision.

No, it is not comfortable to have God Bless America playing via brass band in the back of one’s mind while one scrolls through “cam-cutie” websites seeking parameters, data, and terms & conditions.

“I have a photographic memory.” Steve murmured out loud; whether berating himself or simply informing the air around him, he wasn’t certain. “Not an auditory one. Why is this happening?”

The research was fairly easy and straightforward, but most of the information was presented either as a recruiting technique, or an obvious advertisement; anything that wants you to spend money is lying in some manner. His SHIELD based communications, and anything from Stark or Miss Potts, basically came through JARVIS - secured lines and what not - so as part of his exploration, Steve set himself up with a ‘gmail’ account and started one free trial at a time, cancelling each one as his three day period came to an end because none of them were nearly as satisfying as they claimed to be.

It was a full month of that - and, by basic math, one can calculate approximately ten free trials - before Steve decided none of them were going to be properly satisfying, if only because some part of his mind didn’t want them to be. Resolving to stick it out long enough to see if the type might appeal to him at all - since fleeing at the first sensation of disapproval was simply wasting time - Steve picked the fifth one he had tried.

It had the highest rates, though based on his research, Steve could only hope and presume that the high rates translated to high pay for the workers involved. They weren’t exactly straight forward in describing where the $5.99/hour went.

Another reason Steve chose number five was the manner in which the profiles were designed and displayed. Apparently, the company was little more than a web host providing social networking, with the web camera sex workers functioning as independent contractors (which is the bit that suggests a majority of the $5.99/hour is going straight to them).

Its major downside, of course, was the slightly more anonymous than others function. Proper employees (for an additional $11.99 per month subscription) revealed themselves fully, but the hourly 'cambabes' were discouraged from showing their faces, especially with a mile-long disclaimer from the company, denying any liability for attention drawn in the real world.

Perhaps that was better anyway, Steve reasoned absently, while he toyed with several usernames before finding something that wasn't already taken. DodgersFan1918 had been oddly satisfying as his gmail account - it lacked the usual denial of self he felt with other aliases - so he used it for this as well. Most sites didn’t even offer the option to have his webcam on too - the cambabes were probably not interested in constantly knowing who was watching at any given moment - but it seemed just a little more fair that he should be denied their identity as well.

Certainly, there was some intention to leer indulgently at most of their physical aesthetic, but it avoided all even remote possibility of passing them on the sidewalk and having his photographic memory provide precise details of why a perfect stranger looks familiar.

It still took him another week of scrolling through available profiles to finally strike up a conversation with one of them. The website-produced suggested 'opening lines' were a combination of cheesy and rude, so Steve ignored them. He didn’t want to start this sort - or any sort - of interaction with a sexually suggestive _demand_ , when he knew already it would be much more comfortable if he could just talk to them. Without faces, he was left with little more than the content of self made personal profiles and less than useful body language, and wound up choosing a gentleman with the username SoldierSmolder107, for a couple reasons he may or may not be totally capable of acknowledging on a conscious level.

Hopefully, _soldier_ in the title meant _soldier_ in the flesh, and this sunkissed, sculpted from marble flirt might understand a few things that civilians just can’t. There wasn’t a chance in hell Steve would ever find someone that could sympathize - let alone empathize - with everything he had experienced, but it was a fact that some people were just closer to it than others.

Delay tactics aside, Steve only had one more thing to do - click the chat icon and wait for the window to load, fingers poised over his keyboard while he stared into middle space, trying to determine the best way to open a pertinent dialogue.

**DodgersFan1918** : I'm sure you hear this a lot, but here goes: I've never done this kind of thing before, can we just talk for a minute before anything else?


	7. Tails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW THERE HASN'T BEEN AN UPDATE ON THIS FICLETTE SINCE LAST YEAR!!!
> 
> Hahahahahahaa
> 
>  
> 
> shh.

One month of demanding dickbags, passive aggressive beta personalities, and hesitant voyeurists looking for an obedient fix left Bucky wondering if he was actually enjoying himself or just spiteful at this point. It wasn’t making him much money, but then he didn’t really need much money. He spent it on beer at the local dive and tourist-y ‘fridge magnets he bought online - only if the photo they depicted struck a chord; the camera angle catching something just right to put him in a moment. Maybe if he collected enough of them, a pattern would emerge, and he might be able to start mapping out where he’d spent the last - eh, bridging on, thirty years? It had occurred to him when he set up his profile that he didn’t recall his birthday or age, but figured he was old enough for their purposes, and chose some mid-eighties number as his birth year, March, and god only knows what he clicked for the day.

The whole process of logging on and flipping through chat offers was beginning to seem more like an idle addiction than any sort of active interest, and Bucky started leaving his computer open on the sofa beside him while he returned to his rotating schedules of running, eating and shitty television. DodgersFan1918 was the first user title to actually pull a smirk out of him since he signed up - being that he was bombarded daily by things like pussydestroyer and cockgarage and hotbabe-seriesofnumbers.

DodgersFan1918 : I'm sure you hear this a lot, but here goes: I've never done this kind of thing before, can we just talk for a minute before anything else?

Staring at the pop-up indicator, Bucky contemplated for a short moment, uncertain of whether he wanted to get into a proper conversation. It was still daylight out, and part of him argued that he oughta be accomplishing something, but unless he started drumming up the intel that Coulson wanted - the memories floating back to him so that their accuracy could be trusted in the confines of his broken mind - there wasn’t anything pressing. Wasn’t that how he had gotten here anyway? Yeah. So, dragging the computer into his lap, Bucky double checked the skin tone setting on his arm - because chat or not, eventually one wound up on the cam - and started typing back.

SoldierSmolder107 : Anything you want, sweetheart. What's on your mind?

DodgersFan1918 : I'm sorry, is it weird for you to have people want to make smalltalk?

SoldierSmolder107 : Not as uncommon as you'd think.

SoldierSmolder107 : Just relax, chat is what chat's here for.

DodgersFan1918 : Christ, I haven't relaxed in years.

SoldierSmolder107 : I can help with that.

DodgersFan1918 : No offense, but you'd have to be *really* good at your job to do that.

SoldierSmolder107 : Not to sound bumptious, but I am *really* good at my job. ;)

DodgersFan1918 : Seeing as we've never talked before, I'll have to take that with a grain of salt. Hope you understand.

SoldierSmolder107 : Don't worry, darlin. Gimme some time and I'll prove it to you.

DodgersFan1918 : Are/were you actually a soldier?

DodgersFan1918 : Since the authenticity of my porn is obviously the most pressing matter.

SoldierSmolder107 : Sure was. Not much detail I can give, all things considered, but I got a few good stories in me.

DodgersFan1918 : I shouldn't be as relieved as I am.

DodgersFan1918 : Guess that says a bit about me, huh?

SoldierSmolder107 : Nah, I get it. Takes one to talk to one, right?

DodgersFan1918 : Something like that.

DodgersFan1918 : I'm sitting here on my laptop, chatting with a cam boy, wondering what sorts of compliments on how stunning your physique is would be appropriate.

DodgersFan1918 : If only my friends could see me now.

SoldierSmolder107 : Well, I have yet to encounter a compliment that wasn't appropriate. So don't hold back.

SoldierSmolder107 : You don't need to worry about your friends, y'know?

SoldierSmolder107 : Not here. Not right now.

DodgersFan1918 : I'm just laughing to myself about it. This kind of thing is... Not usually what people expect of me.

DodgersFan1918 : Thank God for incognito windows, right?

SoldierSmolder107 : No expectations from me, doll.

DodgersFan1918 : You're very liberal with the terms of endearment.

SoldierSmolder107 : I'll stop if you ask me to.

DodgersFan1918 : I didn't say that.

SoldierSmolder107 : Say what you like then, sweetcheeks. Tell me what puts a smile on your face.

DodgersFan1918 : Never done this before, remember?

DodgersFan1918 : Definitely wasn't just saying that.

SoldierSmolder107 : I don't mean this. I mean at all.

SoldierSmolder107 : Tell me something you get outta bed for in the mornin.

DodgersFan1918 : Work.

DodgersFan1918 : Running.

DodgersFan1918 : Obligations of hygiene.

DodgersFan1918 : God, that sounds bleak.

SoldierSmolder107 : Smartass. ;)

DodgersFan1918 : Okay, here goes. I like to cook. I actually do enjoy working out. I sketch. Paint.

SoldierSmolder107 : Gotta love a well rounded fella.

SoldierSmolder107 : Mind sharing what brought you to my profile?

DodgersFan1918 : I'm not at a point with work or anything where I could date someone, but I need to blow off steam. I don't like how impersonal non-interactive porn is, your profile made me laugh, and you've got a great set of abs.

DodgersFan1918 : That's the basic gist of it.

SoldierSmolder107 : It's a good answer, button. You obviously have a fantastic sense of humor.

DodgersFan1918 : Smartass.

SoldierSmolder107 : One of my better features, am I right?

SoldierSmolder107 : I'll show you more, if you like.

DodgersFan1918 : I wouldn't complain.

It’s easier to be on-cam, just below the jaw line, so they get glimpses of the dimple in his chin, and the dark stubble that he doesn’t bother to touch most days. The camotech covers his arm and shoulder well passed the scars, leaving Bucky with a smooth plane of muscles he can’t remember working for but automatically upkeeps in patches of his random (seemingly infinite) downtime. No one on here /wants/ him to be smart, or clever. Hell, most of the time, they don’t care if he talks, and there’s no microphone option anyway, not for his level of dedication. 

SoldierSmolder107 is now available for live webcam; invitation only.

SoldierSmolder107 has invited you to private live webcam.

There’s no return camera, for obvious reasons, so Bucky stared at the image of himself, taking up half the screen with the chat window filling the other, the television forgotten in the background. DodgersFans1918’s initial response drew an honest chuckle from him, maybe even a flush of cheeks, not that Bucky recalls ever being flustered with this sort of thing. Lifting a hand, Bucky dragged his fingers across his chest, making the movement look unconscious despite the obvious sensuality of it. There was a fine line between straight forward and obscene, and he preferred to toe it until he fell. So far, most people pushed before then. 

DodgersFan1918 : I think saying you have a "better" feature implies there are ones that aren't great.

SoldierSmolder107 : Flattery will get you anything you like, dreamboat.

DodgersFan1918 : "Anything" covers an awful lot, soldier.

SoldierSmolder107 : Ain't nothin better than an imaginative man.

DodgersFan1918 : Well, what puts a smile on your face? Not that I can see it. I'll have to pretend.

SoldierSmolder107 : Dippy-dogs and kettle corn.

SoldierSmolder107 : If you know what I mean ; )

DodgersFan1918 : Afraid I don't.

SoldierSmolder107 : Stretches the jaw; sweet and salty.

DodgersFan1918 : Definitely with you now.

DodgersFan1918 : Guess that means we have some things in common.

SoldierSmolder107 : What kinds of things do you like to sketch and paint?

DodgersFan1918 : I wouldn't say I like everything I draw. I've got one notebook just for stuff from the war so I can get it out of my head.

SoldierSmolder107 : I getcha. Lot of memories.

DodgersFan1918 : I went MIA for a long while. Don't remember most of it.

Jeezus, fuck. 

SoldierSmolder107 : Sometimes the stuff you're missing sucks more.

DodgersFan1918 : Getting it back in pieces is the worst part.

DodgersFan1918 : Just knowing that now you're claustrophobic and terrified of cold temperatures. You don't know why that was so terrifying. You just know it was.

SoldierSmolder107 : Feels like no one in the whole world could possibly know what it's like.

DodgersFan1918 : I'm sorry. Neither of us came here to talk about this.

SoldierSmolder107 : Don't be sorry, doll. I'm here for you.

DodgersFan1918 : You're not getting paid anywhere near the amount you would need to be in order to deal with my problems.

SoldierSmolder107 : I'm mostly here for the company. Either way, it's your dollar, you get to decide what we talk about.

DodgersFan1918 : Why are you here?

DodgersFan1918 : I mean, I told you what brought me to your profile. How about you? Why'd you decide to do this?

SoldierSmolder107 : Perfectly honest, bit of a whim. Sit at home long enough, almost anything starts to look interesting.

DodgersFan1918 : Impulsive, huh?

SoldierSmolder107 : My middle name.

DodgersFan1918 : You like it?

SoldierSmolder107 : So far, so good. I don't gotta deal with anybody I don't wanna.

SoldierSmolder107 : Plus, I got to meet you. ;)

DodgersFan1918 : You're not the one who gets to watch a gorgeous man doing whatever they ask.

SoldierSmolder107 : Yea but I thrive on the attention of sweethearts.

DodgersFan1918 : I could be an absolute cad and you'd never know.

SoldierSmolder107 : Don't need to know. That's part of the beauty.

DodgersFan1918 : I think the only beauty here at the moment is you.

SoldierSmolder107 : Aw, shucks, apricot. Even suggesting you could be a cad is down right lunar.

At some point, Bucky was pretty sure his mama - or, well, somebody's mama, though that mental correction in itself was worth exploring - was going to pop out of her grave long enough to smack him upside the head if he got any more sarcastic with his lingo. It was little more than a separation technique, though given how easily the slang came to him, he had to wonder if it was indicative of something. Maybe more New York accent. 

DodgersFan1918 : For the sake of full disclosure, I may draw you.

SoldierSmolder107 : Swear you'll show me.

DodgersFan1918 : Fine.

SoldierSmolder107 : That's my guy. I can't wait.

DodgersFan1918 : Aside from jaw stretches and sweet and salty, what do you like?

SoldierSmolder107 : I like guitar music and thick soup and apples. Clocks. Stockings. Blue eyes.

DodgersFan1918 : Not quite what I was asking about, but that's good to know. I'll keep it in mind.

SoldierSmolder107 : It's a pretty open question. Something more specific?

DodgersFan1918 : This stuff. What do you like to do in this context.

SoldierSmolder107 : I'm not 100% to be honest. I'm pretty new to all this. Playing out more fantasies than anything.

DodgersFan1918 : But you know what you like sexually, right?

DodgersFan1918 : Hold on, you're new?

SoldierSmolder107 : I have a pretty good idea, yeah.

SoldierSmolder107 : Only been online about a month.

DodgersFan1918 : Jesus. Never woulda known.

SoldierSmolder107 : I'll take that as a compliment.

DodgersFan1918 : It was.

DodgersFan1918 : What kind of fantasies do you have?

SoldierSmolder107 : All kinds. Sometimes when I'm alone, I think up new ones, or go looking for something I haven't thought up yet. Almost anything can sound good hypothetical. 

DodgersFan1918 : You wanna share some?

SoldierSmolder107 : Hmm. Well, my apartment has a pretty nice view in the den. Might be interesting to get pressed against the glass, bared to the world.

DodgersFan1918 : The front of you or the back?

SoldierSmolder107 : Get a bit of a thrill from both.

DodgersFan1918 : Do I get a taste of what that would look like?

SoldierSmolder107 : Think I can whip up something.

It shouldn’t have taken as long as it did, but the fact that Mr. Sweet and Shy sat in silence for a good ten minutes said a lot about him (or maybe a lot about Bucky, if he wanted to be vain for a moment). The den was a bold faced lie, he knew, but the bathroom had plexiglass panels around the shower instead of a curtain or door, and Bucky closed and locked every door between him and the tile before stripping down. The linen closet had a shelf that gave a pretty spectacular angle, so he set the laptop up there with a five second timer to take three photos; hands against the glass, ass out, cock half hard and dangling - another with his shoulders pressed back, body arched forward, and the last wound up being a blurred photo of his hand as the wire racking shifted and pitched his computer toward the floor. Two minutes of half-assed photoshop later left him with the hints of a city scape behind the slightly distorted texture of the glass, cropping and adding shadows to hide his face entirely, and Bucky uploaded the two good ones, feeling mighty gratified.

SoldierSmolder107  Sent Photos (click to open)

DodgersFan1918 : You're not the only one getting a thrill out of that.

SoldierSmolder107 : Good :) I live to please.

DodgersFan1918 : Submissive tendencies?

SoldierSmolder107 : Could be. Just another endearing facet of my saccharine soul.

DodgersFan1918 : Me too.

DodgersFan1918 : You wanna know something, though?

SoldierSmolder107 : Course, baby.

DodgersFan1918 : I've never bottomed.

SoldierSmolder107 : Bet you'd like to, huh sweet peach? I'll be good to you. Good and proper tonguing to open you up.

DodgersFan1918 : You like doing that?

SoldierSmolder107 : Course, I like anything that makes you feel good.

DodgersFan1918 : Look, I don't want you saying things just to say them. I don't know if you were just then, but I honestly wanted to know if you liked that. Outside of the context of me. Outside of this.

It took Bucky back for a moment, while he stared at the screen feeling a little hollow at being called out; especially since typing it out had felt pretty honest in the first place. Wasn’t that the point of him being here at all? Enjoying himself knowing he was pleasing - if not, at least, amusing or occupying - other people? After a moment of hesitation, he answered with intent, even if his sincerity wouldn't exactly make it through the toneless medium.   


SoldierSmolder107 : I getcha. Straight forward. Anything I can do with my mouth is a real pleasure.

DodgersFan1918 : Figured you'd be a talker.

SoldierSmolder107 : I can promise you now, I won't ever lie to you. I'm here cuz bein here makes me feel good. Makin you feel good does too.

Even with the inclination that he had been following orders longer than most - and some days, he was pretty certain that meant following bad orders - Bucky knew with a certainty that he wasn’t lying about this. There weren't many screen-names he would get up to create custom request photos for, and so far this lug was the only one to call him out on playing the game. It stung in a weirdly sweet way, and weren’t that just the fastest fall ever. 

DodgersFan1918 : I don't talk a whole lot, but I get pretty vocal.

SoldierSmolder107 : Bet you got a pretty voice.

DodgersFan1918 : I've been told so.

SoldierSmolder107 : Ain't nothing better than putting your mouth on someone with a pretty voice. You'd think angels were praying your name.

DodgersFan1918 : That's horrifyingly sacrilegious and I still smiled.

SoldierSmolder107 : Ain't no god could be mad about a smile on your face, doll.

DodgersFan1918 : You've never seen me smile.

SoldierSmolder107 : I don't need to. But I want to.

DodgersFan1918 : I don't see your smile so it's hardly fair.

SoldierSmolder107 : Maybe someday, huh?

DodgersFan1918 : Doesn't seem likely, but we can dream.

SoldierSmolder107 : You gonna dream of me?

DodgersFan1918 : You going to give me material for it?

SoldierSmolder107 : Anything you ask of me.

DodgersFan1918 : So I've never bottomed. Never even fingered myself. Wouldn't know how, honestly.

DodgersFan1918 : You wanna show me?

SoldierSmolder107 : I'll show ya how.

DodgersFan1918 : Yeah?

“Yeah.” Bucky murmured out loud, a smirk pulling at his mouth while he keyed over to the camera once again. How they had managed to spend the such a significant chunk of the afternoon chatting haphazardly off cam was a mystery, if only because Bucky liked being seen by the shy, sweet, dope; earning praise he wasn’t sure he deserved with nothing more than glimpses. Maybe good taste in baseball teams meant low standards for everything else. 

Jostling the computer carefully, Bucky tilted it enough to keep it below his collarbone as he relocated to his bedroom. The site advised against showing too much personal space, apparently because random hookups sometimes recognized it (they also listed house cleaners and familial guests as potential problems), but Bucky wasn’t bringing anyone home. Even if he wanted to, half his surrounding area were Coulson’s people. One can only take /so many/ high trained information specialists knowing when ya got laid. 

In the bedroom, Bucky set his computer on the end of his double bed, making sure the cord reached before crawling into place - his gaze careful on the screen to make sure nothing higher than his jawline got exposed. There were /artistic/ shadows, too, street lamps and moonlight (had the sun actually set while chatting with this guy?) painting him better than any stroke of a brush could handle. 

Palming himself through his black sweatpants, Bucky grinned, knowing it was out of sight. He went slow for the most part, waiting until his cock was properly hard before sliding the slightly elastic fabric down over his hips. Palming became a ring of thumb and forefinger dragging from crown to root and back for barely a minute before he got impatient, and kicked off the rest of his clothing. 

On his back wasn’t the best angle for this, especially not in an informative manner (though, the legitimacy of this being a sort of impromptu training video rather than for stimulation was kinda unlikely, let them both pretend), so Bucky rolled over, grabbing the bottle of lube tucked into his side table at the same time. On his stomach, it was alright for the camera to get all of him - the blond hair growing in dark at the roots but still barely long enough to touch his jaw or shoulders - and he held himself taut, putting the power in his shoulders and back on display as much as his ass and legs. 

Most don’t care for the schematics (by most, of course, Bucky meant the three or so dozen that he had encountered so far), they wanna see the naughty dirty without wondering how he managed, but on the off chance that DodgersFan was serious about learning how, Bucky made sure to get in glimpses of what he was doing - lube on the fingers, rubbed together to warm it up, hips tilting to get a good reach as he sank into position. 

Only problem with his skin tone camo was it didn’t do much about texture or temperature. It was visual, for now, because anything more than that required a different sort of modification - whether it wasn’t ready or Bucky wasn’t entitled yet, he didn’t know. Mostly, he hoped that Coulson would show up one day, much the same as he hoped his memories would just come back, but it wasn’t worth dwelling on. 

Given the choice, Bucky kept the not-quite-skin temperature metal wrapped around his cock, and warm human fingers gliding over the puckered entrance of his own ass, teasing the muscles like he had done maybe fifty times already. In about a minute, it was enough to press his first digit in without even the slightest discomfort, calloused trigger finger tilting this way and that to placate the nerves. 

Watch me, sweetheart , Bucky thought, head pressed into the pillow to hold the angle, while his hands were busy not holding him up, and not even bothering to check the screen for another message or his camera angles. A second finger joined the first, his hiss of breath made entirely of bliss at the stretch. This wasn’t about getting off - alright, it might be, but there was something curiously sincere about the way DodgersFan chatted, so Bucky figured he better play a good professor anyway. He took his time, wrist turning and tilting, fingers scissoring while he moved, breath slow while he counted his heartbeat in his ears. 

His cock was leaking something proper by the time he scrambled to find the toy he had decided to buy for precisely this game. So far, this was as close to actually bottoming as he had gotten, though the soft mold silicone didn’t come close to whatever it was he was looking for in real intimacy. 

Should he sit up and offer some written instructions? It crossed his mind, but figured it might annoy  Mr. Inexperienced , whether because he was enjoying the show or taking notes, Bucky couldn’t guess. Still, he kept his position, rolling forward so that his forehead kept most of weight before repositioning, knees braced and spread. That way, he could hold himself upright or curled up without struggle. 

The toy was about ten inches long - as much for show as it was for fun, since he also liked being able to brace it against the mattress or headboard - flesh colored, though a bit paler than any part of his body, with a pink head that flared, and no foreskin. By the time he had the toy wedged between his heels, the tip sliding toward its target, Bucky knew from experience that he was open enough, but he let his fingers play around the rim of his whole; damp, flushed, just relaxed enough to look open despite the stubborn pucker. 

It wasn’t necessary to use both hands - or really, hands at all - for the next part, but he had figured out that stretching made his back and shoulders look very nice, so Bucky set one hand on his crossed feet and the other half way up the shaft to hold it in place while he slowly sank onto it. The flared head popped just a bit, unlikely to be visible, though he felt it, as it got passed the ring of muscle, not tight enough to hurt anymore. 

The breath he was holding sorta fell out of him as he sank further, his ass not quite managing to touch his heels before his thighs were tensing to pull him up again. Despite his stretch, the invasion burned just that little bit, accompanying the sensation of  full that got him so good. Bucky moved slow at first, enjoying every slicked up inch of the almost awkwardly-pliant toy. 

Now to make it a real show. 

Careful - and graceful - as he could manage, Bucky shifted his knees until he had turned about ninety degrees. A sidelong glance at the screen let him know that sitting upright kept his face off screen, the camera catching him right at the bottom of his chin, throat and shoulders still exposed. With the toy still half-buried in his ass, Bucky painted a pretty wanton picture, and chuckled softly as he ran his hands up his chest and down his stomach, hands circling but not quite touching his cock where it bobbed confidently against his belly. 

Leaning back, Bucky gripped the toy shaft again, mirrored by the other hand wrapped around his own cock, fingers light and guiding more than anything. Tilting his chin up slightly to keep off screen as he sank, Bucky lowered himself onto the toy again, groaning softly. There wasn’t sound, but sometimes he made noise just because it felt dangerous; a thrill arising from defying the instinct to go unnoticed. As he moved, he kept his flesh-warm arm still, letting his cock slide forward and back in the loose circle of his still lube-slick fingers. 

DodgersFan was completely silent, but the indicator said he was still online and present in the private chat window. Again, whether he was enjoying the show or taking notes, Bucky had no idea. He almost expected some extra instruction, but going on forty minutes of video, Mr. Inexperienced hadn’t sent even an emoticon. 

Might as well enjoy himself, Bucky figured. His fingers tightened around his cock, upper arms tensing a bit while he started to stroke out of rhythm with his legs. The controlled chaos of sensation was incredible; shaking limbs barely managing to maintain a pattern of ascent and descent, the textured slide of the toy against his sensitive hole. Bucky knew he could hit his own prostate, though he held off if only to make his endurance look better. Despite preferring the flesh-warm hand, Bucky switched so he could rest one fist against the mattress without obscuring the view. The metal was relatively warm already from touching himself, but it certainly felt different. 

Dropping down a bit hard, Bucky opened his mouth on a gasp, his fingers tightening just beneath his glans while he fought the sudden onset of climax. His whole body began to shake as he struggled to pull himself upright again, and a sort of frustrated whine escaped him as he sank down again. There was no fighting this time, and his cock jumped in his hand before several hot splashes of cum painted his stomach. By the time he turned to glance at the screen again, DodgersFan had disconnected. 


	8. Heads (Bucky's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.

Two whole days passed, seeing neither hide nor hair of the faceless, nameless suppressed virgin who’s only redeeming quality was his taste in baseball teams. Which didn’t matter at all, since he was a paying stranger on the internet, and why should Bucky give a damn.

A message pinged him awake on the third morning, and Bucky resisted looking at it for as long as he could - not because he was butthurt about spending the rest of his evening ignored or anything, mostly just deciding that he should probably have at least one thing in his life that was  more important than a sex service internet job and the attention of six dudes and DodgersFan. Not that DodgersFan was separate or at all distinct from the others. People can log off whenever they choose.

Pretending to still be asleep didn’t work, so Bucky went through something resembling a morning routine, including a forty minute shower and the most vicious brushing he had ever given his teeth. He made an attempt to trim his hair (because even five dollars for the barber down the street felt just a bit too indulgent), shaved his chin and cheeks - experimenting with different beard and mustache shapes before he took the rest of it off as well (and by “rest of it” he meant basically from nose to pants line at this point). Eggs and bacon followed, with little more than salt to spice, coffee with sugar. He even put on the TV and tried watching cartoons before he got too bored to bother with a petty temper tantrum. 

Grabbing his computer off the counter, he flopped back onto the sofa and opened it, logging in with a few quick clicks. 

DodgersFan1918: You're right, by the way. I'm not feeling as stressed the past few days.

Well wasn’t that just perfect. So glad to hear it worked, pal. Happy to be here, proud to serve. 

SoldierSmolder107: See? I know a thing or two.

DodgersFan1918: Guess you do.

Performance of my fucking life, Bucky mused. Thinking he could probably pull off being coy, he managed to be properly embarrassing and stupid instead, but then he should be expected to do that right? Being the online whore that he is.

SoldierSmolder107: Missed you, y'know. How's it goin?

DodgersFan1918: It's only been about a week.

Three days, jackass. 

SoldierSmolder107: Don't mean I can't miss you.

DodgersFan1918: I'm flattered.

DodgersFan1918: Oh, I did this.

DodgersFan1918 has sent an image. Click to view.

Tempted to just pretend he had glanced at it, Bucky clicked on the thing anyway, expecting - in all honesty - some unimpressive child’s attempt at abs and a penis. Instead, Bucky found his mouth hanging open and his eyes started to hurt before he realized he had stopped blinking. 

It was him; and not necessarily in any pose that he remembered being in so far - certainly not with DodgersFan specifically. He was seated in a chair - that he didn’t own - short back, big armrests, his legs spread with a hand demurely (well, a wry imitation of “demurely”) covering his goods. The picture stopped at his chin, obviously, though for some reason Bucky thought it looked more cut off than excluded. Maybe DodgersFan imagined a face, or put on someone else’s, but the lines were just too perfect to not have continued upward in some fashion. 

Flabberghasted, he took a few minutes to collect himself, and DodgersFan waited patiently, blinking his online status like the wagging tail of an expectant puppy - and wasn’t that thought just fucking adorable. 

SoldierSmolder107: Hey, wow. Did you really draw that?

DodgersFan1918: No, I commissioned someone else to draw this sex worker I think is gorgeous.

SoldierSmolder107: Do your friends know how sarcastic you are?

DodgersFan1918: Some of them.

SoldierSmolder107: I think I can tell somethin about your priorities based on which lines are darkest. ;)

DodgersFan1918: Hey now.

SoldierSmolder107: Just sayin. Are they darker because you pressed harder? or because you traced them several times?

DodgersFan1918: Maybe they're like that because that's how it looks most artistic.

SoldierSmolder107: It's a good style. I like it.

DodgersFan1918: I think you're obligated to like it, given you're the subject.

SoldierSmolder107: Well that's just not true. I might look good on camera, but I hate stills. This, though, is kinda gorgeous.

DodgersFan1918: You're kinda gorgeous.

Stop . 

SoldierSmolder107: Thanks, ;) I try.

DodgersFan1918: But, I won't lie, I do appreciate a good waist and ass.

DodgersFan1918: On ladies or fellas, really.

SoldierSmolder107: Good lookin out. I'm a shoulders man myself.

DodgersFan1918: Oh yeah? Guess you would like other soldiers, then.

Stop now.

SoldierSmolder107: Depends on the soldier, but generally, yea. I like to be confident they can hold me and hold their own.

DodgersFan1918: Hold you, huh? You a cuddler, then?

Oh, honey . 

SoldierSmolder107: S'pose so, although I meant as much "against the wall" as I did "after fucking".

SoldierSmolder107: What about you, sweetness? Like a cuddle?

DodgersFan1918: Yes. Even better if they can somehow get their arms around me.

SoldierSmolder107: Big guy, are you?

DodgersFan1918: Yep.

SoldierSmolder107: Sometimes I swear, it's a damn shame these cams don't go both ways.

Fuck, but he meant it; even hiding his face as he was now - shit, but he’d expose everything for even the opportunity to have a goddamn chance at recognizing this big dumb virgin sweetheart on the streets. It didn’t matter what he looked like, really, only that he could match a face - a voice - anything. Bucky hated himself for even mentioning, since it turned out to be a pretty obvious suggestion. 

DodgersFan1918: I mean, they COULD, but I'm a bit shy about it sometimes.

Blush for me, sweetheart . 

SoldierSmolder107: You don't have to be shy, peaches. I won't ask anything more than you wanna give.

DodgersFan1918: You get more inventive with the petnames by the day.

SoldierSmolder107: You like petnames. I like doin stuff you like. Besides, I gotta whole drawer full of these.

DodgersFan1918: I just had a lot of health problems as a kid. Got picked on a lot. Sometimes makes it hard to believe people like me, and not just the fact that I bulked up. 

Every hint was like a new brand and he was getting drunk on the pain alone. Maybe, he considered, it would be a good idea to give Coulson a call, have somebody trustworthy tell him that this wasn’t some symptom of shit he couldn’t even remember suffering; PTSD like they keep throwing around in the news, or a bullshit brain fart that he was born with and hadn’t noticed. 

It seemed ridiculous to even entertain the idea that he was healthy and balanced and sane and falling harder for an anonymous stranger on the internet than a shit-ton of bricks from the top of Empire State Building.

SoldierSmolder107: It ain't the body you're born in that matters, y'know? Only a soul can feel real love.

SoldierSmolder107: You got a sweet soul. I can tell.

I can tell.

DodgersFan1918: I think my soul still thinks it's all sickly and tiny.

SoldierSmolder107: Then get your soul some chicken soup.

DodgersFan1918: Ha. Easier said.

SoldierSmolder107: What do you like to do when you don't have to do anything?

DodgersFan1918: Cuddle. Ha.

DodgersFan1918: I'm all out of cuddle buddies, though.

SoldierSmolder107: Seems a rare commodity lately. Can't say I've had one in a while.

DodgersFan1918: It's not usually what the people I get with are after. I don't blame them. I enjoy a good fuck, too. Just wish they'd let me take my time.

SoldierSmolder107: Patience is a virtue. Sure you're real?

Tell me you aren’t. Let me be free of the fantasy. 

DodgersFan1918: Mostly sure.

SoldierSmolder107: Well, I might hold out for proof.

Show me.

DodgersFan1918: I'm good looking. I'm not being vain, just saying it because most people think so. But I wish they'd let me tell them how beautiful they are.

DodgersFan1918: Body worship, I think it is. I like that.

SoldierSmolder107: I think God spent a little extra time making you, angel.

DodgersFan1918: I'm nothing special.

SoldierSmolder107: You're special to me, stud.

DodgersFan1918: Bet you say that to all the guys.

DodgersFan1918: And girls? Do you just do guys?

SoldierSmolder107: Nah, it's not usually part of my conversational repertoire.

SoldierSmolder107: Not sure I've had a dame on here yet.

DodgersFan1918: I'm flattered, I guess?

DodgersFan1918: Not sure?

SoldierSmolder107: Is it hard to make you blush?

DodgersFan1918: Right. Guess you wouldn't be.

DodgersFan1918: Um, depends. Why do you ask?

SoldierSmolder107: No reason, really. Just wonderin.

Blush for me, sweetheart. 

SoldierSmolder107: Knowin you're into body worship, I gotta wonder if anyone's done a good job of tellin you how good and sweet you are.

DodgersFan1918: Wondering if you've done it yet?

DodgersFan1918: I meant me to other people.

SoldierSmolder107: Can't say it hasn't occurred to me to wonder.

SoldierSmolder107: I know ya did. Just sayin, if I had your mouth on me, I'd be stringing praises together like popcorn at Christmas.

DodgersFan1918: You have. But that's mainly because I tend to flush when I'm. Y'know.

DodgersFan1918: Oh yeah?

SoldierSmolder107: Touchin yourself?

DodgersFan1918: What?

SoldierSmolder107: It was a guess. You said you tend to flush when... but let's pretend I don't know. Tell me.

DodgersFan1918: Oh. Well, that's not totally right. I meant aroused.

SoldierSmolder107: Sorry, sweets. Didn't mean to presume.

SoldierSmolder107: Bet you turn a real pretty shade.

DodgersFan1918: Irish skin.

SoldierSmolder107: That's fantastic.

DodgersFan1918: Is it?

It really is.

SoldierSmolder107: I'd shoot a man in Reno just to watch you blush.

DodgersFan1918: That's... Extreme.

SoldierSmolder107: Johnny Cash song, sugar.

DodgersFan1918: Right. Difficult to place without the melody.

SoldierSmolder107: I getcha. I'm more visual than auditory though.

DodgersFan1918: Yeah?

SoldierSmolder107: Think so.

DodgersFan1918: Is that why you're a cam boy rather than a phone sex operator?

SoldierSmolder107: Probably. If I'm honest, I'd probably be a bit too shy over the phone. Got time to think when we type.

DodgersFan1918: Funny, thinking about you being shy.

DodgersFan1918: Considering.

SoldierSmolder107: I'm a plethora of dichotomy. ;)

DodgersFan1918: Apparently.

DodgersFan1918: What other dichotomies do you have? Tell me something I wouldn't expect.

Bucky drew an immediate blank. What was he anyway? A government agent who remembered how to change a light bulb but not where he was a year ago; weapons left in the field but not whether he has any family; gold wheat in sunshine dripping blood over cornflower blue eyes and a voice shouting orders but not a single god damn Christmas. 

Except for the Bing Crosby song that sent him spiralling for almost a week straight. Everyone, it seemed, had seen White Christmas, but that just  wasn’t the same thing, damnit !

SoldierSmolder107: I want you to see my face.

That had to be something the jackass wasn’t expecting, right? There was a long - painful, actually  agonizing delay. DodgersFan was still blinking as online, but there was radio silence. Even the little ellipses that showed he was typing only lasted a moment, followed by another long pause. And then..

DodgersFan1918: Really?

SoldierSmolder107: Yea.

He definitely answered too fast. 

SoldierSmolder107: I wanna see yours too.

If he was gonna go for desperate measures, he might as well make them worth it. Though, another long ass pause had him reconsidering. 

DodgersFan1918: Alright.

SoldierSmolder107: If you’re computer has a camera in it, just push the little gray button in the corner. Same time? 

DodgersFan1918: Yeah. Okay. Ready.

DodgersFan1918 has enabled camera feed.

Making sure his computer was tilted just right, Bucky put on a lazy smirk, hoping to make a damn good first impression.

SoldierSmolder107 has enabled camera feed. 

A beautiful face popped up on his screen; short cropped yellow blond hair and cornflower blue eyes, a square jaw that looked like it had been carved from marble with a bright and curious smile. As his video feed registered, though, Bucky watched the smile fall, replaced with a round-eyed sort of shock. In an instant, he started to rethink his decision. 

“Bucky?” A ripe baritone questioned, and Bucky felt his heart leap into his throat. He hadn’t told DodgersFan his name. His  self assigned name. His name that he sorta thought might be his name. 

Bucky hit the disconnect button so fast his fingertip ached. The video screen went black, and he slammed the lid of his computer shut, not even bothering to close the window. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been alternating whose point of view I write from but I couldn't get in Steve-Space lately. Its hard cuz my Steve is gone.
> 
> I really, desperately wanted to finish this. This is chapter eight, with my clever "tails and heads" chapters finished. Making this the first, real, /published/, fanfiction/piece of writing I have ever finished. 
> 
> But it doesn't feel finished.
> 
> If I can find Steve-Space again, I may post a second version of Heads that actually does it in the point of view I had originally intended - probably with some of what happens afterwards.


End file.
